


Intimation

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Ficlet, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 10:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3064259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaise and Cho spend a date in the library.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intimation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imera/gifts).



> A/N: Happy Holidays, Imera! I took your HP and PoC prompts. This isn’t properly British.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

When they were little, this would’ve been unthinkable, even as fearless as Blaise has always felt. Madam Pince is a living skeleton with fire in her eyes, and she guards her library like a keep. But Blaise was raised in dungeons, and his respectful carriage in the day softens her around him. Ravenclaws get the same treatment; the library is always open to them. Perhaps, together, Blaise and Cho could ask for entrance, and perhaps Madam Pince would allow it. ...But then they’d have eyes on their backs all the time, and it wouldn’t be half so fun.

So they sneak inside in the dead of night, Blaise having dropped one or two hints and a bottle of Firewhiskey to his Head of House to take the lady of the library out. The lock on the door is surprisingly easy to _alohamora_ away, and Cho grins like she wants to giggle while he slips his wand back into his pocket. He draws a long finger to his lips to silence her, and her eyes light with mischief. 

Inside, they shut the door behind them, lock themselves into the darkness and the oh-so-faint wash of moonlight from the far windows. They seal the doors like nothing was ever wrong, and Cho slips her delicate fingers in between his, her pale hand pulling him from the entrance. Her heels are spelled to absorb their own clicks, and the two of them steal through the winding, high shelves mounted with row after row of well-preserved books. It feels vaguely like ghosting through a museum, but more familiar; Blaise knows every centimeter of this place in the light. They could use their wands like lamps but don’t. Cho thrives in the library: this is the muse to her genius. She guides him steady, up the small steps and around one twist, then another, all the way down to the dead end of a wall, so packed in that even a hunting hound would have difficulty finding them. There’s a sliver of a window high above them, carved out of the stone and inlaid with glass, and it makes Cho’s black hair gleam with a blue-white halo. She turns beneath it to smile at him, all dark eyes and flushed cheeks and curved lips. He wants to flatten her into the wall and swallow her whole. 

He slinks to his knees instead, quiet as a mouse. She follows, of course, graceful as a cat. The blanket he pulls from the bag across his shoulder is small at first, but a flick of his wrist and it’s expanding, all out to full-size, enough to wrap the two of them up, so much better than huddling in their four-posters with the silhouettes of housemates around them. Blaise takes his bag off and puts it aside so it won’t be between them, and her soft shoulder nestles up to his, warm beneath their uniforms. The robes are too much and were left back in the dorms; the coolness without them is one more good excuse to sit close. Cho removes her own bag and pulls a book from it, some fanciful fairy tale that Blaise would only care for in her voice. They’re nearing the end, and they wanted the last chapter to be _special_.

But every date with Cho is special. Blaise feels like a fool sometimes; he targeted her first for her beauty, the best in the entire school. But now he knows how much more there is: her charm, her intelligence, her sweet laugh and her lilting style of conversation. She can even fly better than him. She’s creative and pragmatic but whimsical, so full of nuance and detail that he thinks he could marry her next year and still find surprises on every anniversary. But mostly he enjoys spending time with her, tucked away like this, the two of them hidden from the world. She whispers out the words on the page with a hushed intensity that forces him to listen, lean his head against hers and close his eyes. It’s her turn to finish; he’ll read the first chapter of the next one. She makes slightly different voices for the different characters of the story, but they all sound like _Cho_ , and the plot carries that undertone. He doesn’t think it through enough to unravel the ending, but when it comes, he isn’t surprised; she reads it so naturally that he flows right through the conclusion. 

Then she closes the book and stares at the cover, sighs and murmurs, “That was a good one.”

He puts his hand over hers, finds it a little cold and squeezes to warm it up. “Your narratives are more compelling.”

She laughs and hisses, “Flatterer,” like an accusation, like she isn’t smiling. She’ll be a brilliant author, one day, if that’s what she chooses, though she could just as easily be a professional Quidditch player or a philosopher or his trophy wife or all of the above. A real wife, of course, but one he would love to show off. She turns her hand over in his and turns to kiss his cheek, faint and light. Then she nuzzles into the side of his face and sighs, “When are you going to touch me?”

He slips his arm so easily around her lithe waist, pulls her closer and says, “I touch you all the time.” Though he knows exactly what she means. She merely looks at him, quiet and waiting, and he admits, “I was trying to be respectful.” Because he wants this one to _work_ , and he always takes that so quickly. She kisses him again, closer to his mouth, and on the next one, he turns his head so their lips can brush, just loose enough to be tantalizing. 

She murmurs, “You’ve been good: you can have me now.” And he chuckles at the overt invite. The better he treats her, the more blunt and honest with him she is, and he appreciates and cherishes that truth. It’s an offer he can’t refuse, and as he turns his body to face hers, starting to loom over her, she whispers, “I’ve always wanted to have sex in a library.” Blaise so enjoys Ravenclaws. 

He lays her down in the blanket, thankful that she’s light enough to hold her up against him while he rearranges it like a mattress. He bundles the end like a pillow beneath her head, and she flicks her face aside once to get comfortable, scattering her long, straight hair about her head like a black halo. He brushes one strand away from her eyes and shifts his body over hers, straddling her and held above an all fours, while her hands rest on his shoulders. Her eyes, already a little blown wide, ghost down his body to take him in; she seems to appreciate his looks as much as he appreciates hers. They make a handsome couple, but they’re so much _more_ than that. He kisses her mouth gently, a little bit of tongue but no teeth, soft lips and slow touches. She kisses him back just as sweetly, only matching him in vigor. Perhaps they’ll be wild, someday, rough with biting and hair pulling and him grinding her into the stone of a wall or the floor, but this date is a hushed and quiet, magnificent thing, something to be held sacred. The more he kisses her, the more her hands slide along his body, smooth over his chest and wrap around his back, cling to his shoulders to hold on. He can feel her small breasts flattening against him, a more than pleasurable feeling. He’ll fondle them later—kiss, lick, and suck them—but for now, he and Cho stay in clothes, alive with the knowledge that they could be caught at any second. 

Cho’s strong, and he’s thin, but he doesn’t want to crush her, so he stays up on one elbow, fingers dancing through her hair while the others run down her side, slip over her uniform to trace her skirt. It’s surprisingly easy to hike up around her thighs; she lifts them to help, and he can part them around himself, bending them back to envelop him. Her heels lift to press against the small of his back, leaving his hand to press in between her legs, cupping her body. He can feel the expensive, cut-out lace of her panties, hardly a barrier; he can feel everything beneath them, and little hairs poke up through the holes to tickle his skin. When he rubs at her, she turns her head from his to gasp, and he has to nip at the corner of her lips to draw her back; they must be quiet. She returns to him and lets him kiss away her noises, and she moans into his mouth while he rubs three fingers along her pussy, her panties clinging to her skin and sucking into her cleft. He can already feel her growing moist, and she gasps around him, “ _Blaise_ —”

He whispers, “I know.” It’s hard to draw his hand away from her, but he does, reaching for her bag—the closer one. Her wand is in the specialized side pocket; he can find it without even looking, and he brings it back between them, muttering the spell against her lips that will protect them from any surprises. As he puts the wand away again, she’s smiling, and he can’t help but have the wild, terrifying notion that someday he’d like to put a child inside her: mix their genes and bind her to him for life. But for now they’re young and more planned than that. She rolls her hips against him, her damp crotch grinding over his tenting pants, to draw his attention back down. 

He returns his hand to caressing, and he nips at her mouth and asks, “What would you like?” Because he’ll give her anything, no matter how much he just wants to plunge inside her. His cock is growing stiff against the inside of his pants, both from rubbing against her stomach and the feel of her kisses and her breasts against him. She rakes her fingers down his spine, sighing musically like she’s thinking.

“Just take me,” she tells him. Her breath is uneven, but her tone is languid and pretty. “Be inside me and tell me how much you love me.”

Grinning, he mutters, “I adore you,” before they’ve even started. She smiles back but doesn’t get to giggle, because he plunges his tongue back into her mouth, distracting her while he pulls her panties down her thighs, one leg at a time. She lifts her ass to help, and he stretches them easily below her, then ruts himself against her bare rear, so beautifully soft and smooth. For a moment, he just appreciates that, writhes against her to feel everything, and then he needs _more_ , and he’s pushing his hand inside his pants to pull his own cock out, now completely hard. As soon as he brings it out, he presses it against her, not the tip at her hole but the length against her slit, dragging it up and down between her thighs. The scratch of her short pubic hair and the spongy lips of her pussy make him shiver with delight, a wealth of perfect sensations, like his cock knows just what’s coming. As he grinds his hard length against her, she moans and canters up into him. When he sticks his fingers against her lip again, she’s soaking wet. He presses into her and she dribbles down his fingers. He knows he won’t have to go back to a wand again. He still slides one finger up inside her to help stretch her open, but it sucks easily in to the knuckle. When he rubs at her velvety insides, she whimpers and bucks into him; he feeds her a second finger and gently scissors her apart; he’s sizeable and he’d never want to hurt her. 

But a moment later she’s whispering, “Blaise... Blaise, _please_ ,” and he knows she’s ready, he can _feel_ her wet and loose around him. He has to wonder if she’s wanted this as long as him, if she used to look at him in past years and wonder what Hogwarts’ other young supermodel felt like. He was a fool not to take this sooner, but perhaps it’s for the best. They’re adults on the verge of freedom. He’s watched her grow stronger through the years, and he likes her now as she is: only delicate to the ignorant eye. She hisses when he pulls his finger away, but he’s pressing his tip against her entrance in the next moment. He takes a minute to breathe and pushes in.

She’s warm all around him. Stifling hot, and a little tight, a good squeeze but still loose enough to go without resistance, and she’s moist and pulsing and seems to suck him in. He’s lost his own moan in her mouth. She feels so, _so_ intensely good, just like he knew she would. She whimpers a strangled form of his name and claws at his shoulders, while he wraps his arm around her waist to hike her up, pull her in; she gasps at the change of angle. His other fingers tighten in her hair, but he lets go when she hisses, maybe in pain, and he kisses her temple again, her cheek, her lips. She kisses him back with a sudden ferocity, a desperation. She tightens her thighs around his waist and clenches her pussy around him; Blaise growls in a feral need. 

Then he’s rolling into her, pulling his hips up and sliding them back down, grinding into her body at different angles, until she’s squirming below him and panting, telling him, “Right there,” and, “ _Yesss._ ” When she arches her body into him, tossing back her head, he licks at her neck and nips at her throat, pushing into the same spot and working into a steady, efficient rhythm, neither harsh nor soft, just strong and good and inside of her on every second beat. She feels like pure heaven. He can smell her arousal thick in the air, taste the sweat gathering beneath her chin and between her breasts. Their kisses have become sloppy and ill-coordinated, but Blaise is concentrated on pleasure elsewhere. His engorged cock is a perfect fit for her body, and his entire being has filtered into that point of contact. Her creamy thighs are such a delight to have around him. He keeps filling her to the brim, over and over again, and she clutches at him and murmurs nonsense in his ear, her body shuddering around him. 

And then she tenses, gasps, tosses back and spills around him; her fingers claw right through his shirt and seem to dig into his skin. She barely manages to finish her own scream, hoarse, turning into a broken, desperate moan instead, and he knows he’s finished her. He’s half shocked that she’s come first. But then she’s curling back into him and murmuring, “Oh, yes... so good...” And she drops one of her hands to hold the back of it against her mouth, even though he’d listen to her for days. 

Her orgasm’s clenched her around him, and he can’t last against that; he follows a few thrusts later, spilling inside her and feeling delicious for it; he has to bite his own scream down and burry his face in her neck and shoulder. He holds her so fiercely against himself that for a moment, he’s worried he’s broken her, but then he’s slumping back and she’s settling down, and he’s panting hard in her ear with a pleasure-haze permeating his brain. 

He gives a few extra rocks to milk himself out, then putters to a stop and pushes up on both hands, looking down at her lust-clouded eyes and her beautiful, flushed face. Her lips are swollen from being kissed, and she lifts one small hand to push against his chest. He takes the sign to pull out of her.

He settles back down at her side. He doesn’t bother to tuck either of them back into their clothes, and Cho doesn’t seem to mind. She rolls into him, pressing her body against him again, and snuggles up close against his chest. He’s tempted to drape the blanket over them, but they’re still overheated and he doesn’t want to lose this view of her. Amidst their panting, she mumbles, “Can we stay?”

It’d be foolish, but Blaise is no good at denying her things, so instead he pets through her hair and asks, “How long?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Another hour or two. We can leave at dawn and sleep in all tomorrow.”

“You want to sleep in the library.” It’s a statement, not a question, and she makes a pleased mewl of agreement. They can’t do that, of course, but they can lie here for a while. Wise or not, he’s glad for the reprieve. Their sex has left him heavy and satiated, and perhaps if they wait long enough, there’ll be time for another round. 

Or another novel. Cho reaches over his head to pluck a maroon book from the shelf, and she drops it between them to sigh, “Read me a story?”

So Blaise flips the cover open and sets in to whisper.


End file.
